On the recent deluge of AI-generated spam targeting writers’ insecurities and desire for recognition.
I used to love opening my inbox and seeing an email from someone who had read and enjoyed one of my books. Now, when I see a message like that, I cringe.
The reason is that these days, they’re far more likely to be AI-generated spam than genuine human connections. They often impersonate authors or film directors (I had one the other day from James Patterson) or claim to be from respectable real-life book clubs or literary festivals.
What they all have in common is that they work very hard to convince me that I’m a great and woefully underappreciated writer whose books should be getting much more attention than they are. They pile on the flattery, saying how much the book in question stayed with them and how genuinely shocked they are that it’s not higher up the bestseller lists. I delete them on sight, so I don’t have a lot of examples, but here’s an extract from one that came in the other day:
“Your sharp look at online identities, the tension between image and reality, and the way love presses against a web of lies stayed with me. One small word I learned from the book is truth.”
Most of the emails pull off the unique AI trick of including masses of specific detail and yet still seeming weirdly generic. They muse on the motivations of my characters, praise my innovative narrative techniques, and bring up highly specific plot details to show how closely they read my book and how much they loved it. Yet the fakery is still easy to spot, not because of the widely publicised ‘AI tells’ like em-dashes and “it’s not X, it’s Y” constructions, but because of an uncanny emptiness. Writing exists to help one human communicate with another, and at no point does AI writing, no matter how grammatical or polished, how folksy or humorous, ever quite manage to convince you that there’s a real person on the other end of the line.
Often, the emails strive to sound genuine by using words like “genuinely” a lot. Today’s arrival had four instances:
“I want to start by saying something I genuinely mean: A Virtual Love is not just another novel about the Internet. It is a compelling and very entertaining look at the complexities of our hyperreal age, and it is an insightful and witty exploration of the disconnect between image and reality, truth and appearance, and whether love and sincere sentiment can overcome the short term thrills of social media.”
“That is not a plot convenience. It is a genuinely accurate depiction of how sustained deception works, and it gives the novel real psychological weight.”
“My work sits at the intersection of storytelling, audience psychology, and digital visibility, helping authors ensure their books do not simply get published, but genuinely get discovered.”
“Over the past several years I have worked with authors across literary fiction, contemporary romance, and culturally engaged fiction, helping position their books in ways that build credibility, expand reach, and connect with the readers who are actively searching for exactly the kind of witty, insightful, and genuinely entertaining work this novel provides.”
They never ask for money upfront. “James Patterson”, for example, just wrote to say how much he loved my book and to ask an innocent question: “As an author, I am curious how “On the Holloway Road” came together. Did the characters come first, with the road built to give them somewhere to go, or did the journey arrive first, and the characters became the people who could walk it?”
However, I assume that a money grab is where it’s going at some point down the line. The flattery is the setup, and people who respond get hit with the pitch: presumably some kind of expensive book-marketing scheme. Both the Society of Authors in the UK and the Author’s Guild in the USA have warned of a rise in this kind of email scams targeting authors.
As entertaining as it can be to watch large language models genuinely trying to sound genuine, I find it sad that reader letters, once a source of joy, are now something I presume to be spam. I’m pretty sure I could tell a real human email from this AI slop, but what about an email from a real reader who doesn’t feel confidence in their writing and uses ChatGPT to help them compose the message? I might well mark it as spam these days.
More importantly, as the volume increases, will authors simply stop reading fan letters, and will readers stop writing them? History is full of famous fan letters, whether it’s Charles Dickens writing out of the blue to George Eliot or an 18-year-old James Joyce sending a gushing letter to Henrik Ibsen. It would be a shame if that long history ended.
Spam, of course, has been around for a long time—I wrote an article about it way back in 2003—and we’ve found ways to deal with it and sort the real from the fake. Probably the same will happen with this new wave, which I’m sure is not just hitting authors. What makes this type tricky is how dramatically AI has reduced the cost and time needed to create something believable (or at least almost-believable). But with new EU rules forcing the major AI models to introduce watermarking, perhaps it will be easier for email providers to identify AI-generated messages and divert them automatically to the Spam folder.
In the meantime, I’ll keep deleting the fawning AI-generated emails. The good thing is that writing this post has prompted me to look back through my old emails for some real, human-written messages, and they warmed my heart. Here’s one from 2 July 2012:
Dear Andrew, I just finished reading your book and felt compelled to email you – I don’t twitter or tweet hence the old fashioned correspondence.
I’ve lived in Islington all my life and love reading about the local area and places that I’ve walked along or can relate to. There is something quite comforting about the Holloway Road even though most of it could be considered quite grotty but it’s also probably true to say that most of life exists there and I loved the way this was reflected in the book. I also loved that I could go from completely despising Neil to wanting to give him a hug in a matter of seconds. I feel that it’s going to be one of those books that will stay with me for a long time and keep me reflecting on why we crave adventure but that often the idea is far more exciting than the reality.
On another level, it has, as often happens, reinforced my love of London with all its faults, beauty, colourful characters and life.
There are 12 comments
For me, reading is as essential as breathing, yet it has never occurred to me to write a fan letter to a writer (a friend wrote to Ursula Le Guin and got a lovely reply). I wonder to whom I would write. Miles Franklin (1879-1954) almost certainly wouldn’t write back. Justine Ettler responded nicely to a request for an interview and then I gave her an adverse review (for Bohemia Beach). Maybe Nnedi Okorafor, but I would feel like an idiot even if she did repost one of my reviews. Better to remain silent
I think most people are the same, Bill – only a minority of readers write reviews, and an even smaller minority contact authors directly. Most people just read and maybe tell a few friends about a book they really like (or hate) but otherwise keep quiet, and that’s fine. I think what you do on your site is a great way to start interesting conversations about books, so there’s no reason to go beyond that if you don’t want to. For what it’s worth, though, I bet you’d make Nnedi Okorafor’s day if you did write to her.
Yes, it’s terrible.
And am getting tons more of book review requests. I’m also currently working on an AI rant, focusing on a book I stupidly accepted to review…
Yes, I’m getting more of those too, Emma, along with offers to contribute interesting and relevant guest posts about the best luxury travel resorts. I suppose AI makes it easier for everyone to pump out content of all kinds. Although it’s annoying for us as website owners, I think the people who really lose out are the writers or small publishers who reach out with well-researched, honestly written emails but get lost in the AI-generated noise.
The real reader letter is so much better than the AI one. I suspect though that there are plenty of new writers who are insecure who fall into the AI scam trap. I suppose this is the updated version of the Nigerian email scam.
You’re right about those new writers, Stefanie. I remember how it was when my first book was launched, how desperate I was for praise and recognition. It’s quite unpleasant to prey on those weaknesses and insecurities, but I suppose that’s what scams have always done.
Of course it’s ironic, but I think these situations will only ultimately make us better at spotting the Truly Genuine connections in our lives, the Truly Genuine messages and emails. It IS dissapointing though, to receive something that you initially take as a kindness only to find it’s an emptiness. It’s good you’re writing about the experience though…
I think we are getting better. When AI writing first came out, most of us struggled to spot it. Now, even though the AI models are getting better, we’re more attuned to that style of writing, and the truly human messages stand out. My worry is, though, that the sheer scale of AI production will make human stuff get crowded out.
I love your description of “masses of specific detail and yet still seeming weirdly generic” and later, the feeling of emptiness. Before I recently retired as a writing teacher, I was always trying to find just the right words to describe AI written pieces from my students. And it was often difficult to come up with a single line or turn of phrase or even overall ideas that were AI generated, but after reading 10 or 20 pieces, all of different topics, the word that came to mind was “sameness.”
I had many brilliant writers and excellent students who wanted to pursue authentic writing, but too many others who did not. I’m happy to be done deciphering AI vs human. Thankfully my blog is not popular enough for AI bots to comment!
Oh, I didn’t know you’d retired now. Congratulations and hope you are enjoying the new way of life.
It must have been tough as a teacher to come across that kind of sameness in people who were supposed to be learning how to create and communicate with their fellow human beings. My first response was: “Why on earth would someone take a writing class and then use AI to generate their writing?” It seems like googling the answers to a crossword puzzle – sure, it’s quicker and easier, but then what’s the point?
Then I thought back to my own university days, though, and all the distractions and temptations and the hormones and the impatience and the limited ability to delay gratification. I remember times when I had to drag myself away from a party because I had a stack of books to read and an essay to write. If someone back then had given me a magic button to produce a convincing-looking essay in a few minutes and stay at the party having fun in the moment, I can’t say whether I would have given in to the temptation.
So I feel sorry for you and all the other teachers who are having to grapple with this stuff, but I also feel sorry for the kids who are being given this incredibly tempting shortcut. Yes, it will ruin your education and your ability to think and create for yourself, but it will make your life so much easier and less stressful right now. That’s a tough kind of temptation to give to young people.
This seems to have gone through the roof lately, doesn’t it? A friend of mine who’s a publisher was incandescent with rage the other day because he discovered someone had been using his name to make these fake AI approaches to authors. He relies on his reputation and has no idea how many have gone out, or to whom! Kind of think James Patterson probably gives a shrug, though. You’re right that it IS easy to spot AI despite its superficial eloquence. The final, real, letter is a joy.
Yes, it must be horrifying to realise that. I saw a post on LinkedIn by an experienced journalist who’d been alerted by an editor to poor-quality AI-generated pitches being sent in her name. It’s everywhere!